6 feet down
by Iseria Dweller
Summary: Natarle x Murrue with a hint of Natarle x Azrael. The Dominion Captain wanted to cut the Archangel's wings so that she can never leave her bed of glass. A dark take on Natarle's character. Slightly, SLIGHTLY AU.


**6 feet down under –**

"When my bones are frail, when I have no where to go and my tears have run dry, please grant me one last request. Take me to the garden where bone flowers and orchids cover the earth as the ocean would to the seabed. Lay me down gently and bury me in a grave amongst the blooms. There, six feet down under, I will dream of peace and a world where our brothers and sisters will be free of illness in our little blue planet."

taken from the diary of Anna Hale Azrael

**xXx**

Rain...

The water droplet that lashed against the window panes weren't as clear as they turned out to be in the past. Just like humans, time and technological influences had managed to taint even the purest basics of what nature had to offer.

She wondered how the unfiltered air would be.

Would it be in the shade of death?

Even with various filters in the atmosphere, the air of the city still smelt like gasoline.

Nostalgic. Disgusting. Relaxing.

Night made it hard for her to distinguish the rain's true color.

She hated thunder storms. She always had.

She could always run back to her ship. 6 Feet down under that grave known as the Terminal's harbor, not even the sounds of Thor's hammer could wake her up from her slumber.

Thunder reminded her of gunshots. Both were the same.

But she wanted to see this fucked up town once again. It was where she spent her innocent child hood at before the reality of war shattered her dreams just as it had shattered every material object around her pretty much before.

The human body is a material object. Look. It's so easy to destroy its fragile frame, isn't it?

Is the soul all that matters to the Gods?

Thankfully, nothing much has changed. Being one of the smallest island clusters to ever exist within the Atlantic Federation's rule over Asia made it rather hard for any Mobile suits or battleships to dive bomb and pull a Pearl Harbor attack on.

Wasn't the same said for Heliopolis?

The tiny book store held too much glass windows and mirrors.

The window is made from the same material as the mirror. The mirror is able to project an opposite copy of your image because it has been polished down to perfection. However, the glass window is merely the basic skeleton of what the mirror really is.

Coordinators and the Naturals can be represented perfectly with the use of these two examples. The Coordinators are nothing but a polished glass surface. They are so perfect yet imperfect.

The mirror can't portray the fact that left is right when right is left?

The shopkeeper's wary eyes followed her wherever she went.

A luxurious deep black coat made out of genuine cashmere adorned her slender frame, doing a rather decent job in protecting her from the harsh weather and from the prying eyes of the public.

Even with the air cons switched off in the whole shopping mall, the young soldier was literally freezing.

The Atlantic Federation hadn't really done anything to ensure that their uniforms would be sufficient to keep their soldiers warm. The coat was simply one of the many gifts the Director had adorned her in.

And she wasn't embarrassed to flaunt her status around either. She was a vision of what women should be in this war torn era.

"I'm looking for a book on a good military personnel's autobiography." It wasn't an option. It was an order. She was used to people obeying her.

The shopkeeper didn't dare question her then. A woman of such rank should be able to dig up information on Major Kusanagi in a heart beat using the military database, wasn't she?

So why would she want a mere book instead?

"I want something to read on my trip." She explained calmly, trying to kick the authoritative tone out of her voice but for most part, she didn't bother.

It was a sadistic pleasure, seeing these Naturals squirm underneath her gaze.

"The last shelf." The shopkeeper pointed out to where a black haired young man was busy reading along with a few other customers.

If anyone would've given a damn about the reminiscence of death heading their way, this young man sure didn't.

To make it even more nerve wrecking, he was hogging onto all the books she wanted to buy.

"I want that book." She began.

"That's why I'm reading it."

She raised an eye brow at him, amused. A clear cut signal that a further explanation was needed regarding this strange course of action. The stranger smirked and shut the old, red book with one hand before looking at her with that irritating gaze of his.

"You and I apparently share the same kind of literature materials. And this bookstore offers such materials at a very cheap price." He began. "Customers here are free to lend or buy the books."

"And?"

"Whenever you step in, you never lend any books. You just BUY the books which meant that the ones, who come in after you, will never get a chance to see the title ever again."

She tipped her head to the side and gave him another impatient look. "Look. I don't know what crap logic that is but I buy the books because I want something to read on board when I'm not on my shifts. That and one of my pilots love to read."

"Yeh and you have to buy all the books I want to read."

"Well, I'm doing my part in keeping this shop running." She leaned her body against the wall nearby and placed a hand against the shelf in front of her. "Besides, my personal library in my ship is empty. A library's function is to store books, no?"

The man held a mixed expression of amusement and irritation. He had bumped into her several times before in this very bookstore and from what he gathered, she is quite a capable military personnel. Yet, he wondered what in the world would such a person spend whatever free time she could get her hands on, in a tiny run down posh little shop such as this one.

The woman before him disregarded his look completely before continuing her sentence. "I'll give you 20 minutes to finish up that book. I want to buy it. Understood?"

The young man threw his hands up in frustration, mocking a dramatic sigh. "Why in the world does your ship even have a library? I didn't know that battleships were this luxurious."

The woman chuckled amusedly as she turned to walk away. "It has to be. After all, it is the vessel that is accommodating Director Azrael. Now hurry up and read. I want that book."

"Fine, fine, geeze. You're awfully demanding!"

Waiting was something she hated doing and he was taking his own sweet time. He knew what ticked her off and he enjoyed doing it. Everyone knew of her short temper. Few dared crossed her path for her infamous temper that was probably on par with Jule.

Sid as she had nick named the stranger, was one of the few who loved to tick her off.

Knowing better then to pester him again because that would meant that he would just read and hog onto the book even slower, she went around a couple of other shelves, attempting to pull out other books.

Several books caught her interests. One was a well illustrated book on mankind's earliest conceptual knowledge of the P.L.A.N.T's and the other one was oddly, a fairytale about a couple living on the moon.

She noted that the works were published back in the 21st century, where space travel still cost a whooping 30 million dollars.

A dry, amused chuckle escaped her throat at the thought of having to pay 30 million Earth dollars to break through the atmospheric surface of the very pathetic blue planet that spawn even more pathetic terrans.

A trip to space via the commoner's shuttle merely cost $10. A first class seat wouldn't cost more then $200.

**xXx**

_When you have been shielded from all kinds of demons for too long, you'll soon grow to forget the very fear that haunts you. In solitude, that fear will sail back to your mind, whispering to the stream of serotonin in your brain, making you shake and hurdle up in fear._

Madness and the other abnormalities of the mind was something not even coordinators are immune to.

The glass windows were rattling again. Her senses were on fire. Something bad was coming their way. Fortunately, the stranger was done with the book.

"Here. The book. You better get back now." He slipped the book back onto its respective place on the shelf and walked off.

The shopkeeper began to make preparations as alarms blared throughout the city.

Another bomb raid.

On her two days off too.

Wonderful.

"I'm buying these." She waved the books around in her arm before dumping them into her hand bag. "Keep the change."

The amount of dime she'd dumped onto the counter was probably enough to pay for 20 other books of the very same title.

That was just the way she is.

The shabby looking struggling part timer lady behind the counter probably needed the dough better then her.

Director Azrael supplied her cash just like water. She breathed in millions everyday. Albeit in a suicidal and dirty method of killing others who were breathing in an equal number of millions in some bloody star wars 'game'.

As she raced through the malls, she noticed that the level of frantic people had already risen. The alarms were wailing even louder and soon, there were peels of dying screams in the air.

Had she been an innocent little bystander, a member of the public, she would've probably given an arm and leg to save these people.

Just how many would be left without a family by the end of today?

_Family. What family?_

On the topic of family, she too, had a family waiting for her back in the metal coffin which passed off as home. There were differences between her family and the screaming men and women in the shopping mall before her. Her family consisted of three capable but gamma glipheptin dependant teenage pilots. Well, the exact number was actually four but Fllay Allster never took in any forms of substance apart from what she drank off her boys.

Supposedly, the director could pass off as her husband and the little Archangel will be her mistress.

Her family was entirely capable of handling themselves in a moment of crisis unlike the show of carcasses on fire around her.

Glass shattered, gunshots were fired and lives were taken.

Her day off was ruined.

She wasn't puzzled. She was expecting such things to happen.

"There goes my date." She grumbled as she shielded her eyes from the raining glass and bolted out of the building.

If there was one thing that annoyed her were terrorist rebels. Unnamed bastards who can't understand the rules of war and yet pretended that they know everything at the back of their hands simply they have the balls to splurge on another new bazooka last Friday night in their drunken stupor at the back of the 99th street with some common whores.

Captain Ramius sure as hell isn't going to be one happy woman when she hears that her 2nd in command is 2 hours late again.

**xXx**

"I can explain myself. Really."

Ramius didn't really sound too convinced at her placid tone over the other end. Time off was something extremely rare and ever since Ramius' playmate had been transferred off the Archangel, physical contact was something extremely rare.

Badgiruel had promised Ramius to an evening alone as the Dominion had made a stop not too far from Ramius' unfortunate ship. Of course, the affair is to be a secret one. Director Azrael would be very displeased if he finds an Angel mating with his prized Devil.

"I can't help that I attract too much stray thugs in my presence." Ramius' playmate replied, irritated.

The Archangel Captain gave a nonverbal reply of simply hanging up on the Dominion Captain.

This was just how their relationship was.

They would worry, argue and bitch at each other. Then they would kiss, make up and fuck each other dry

Provided that they are both on the same ship and within an arm's reach.

It drove the Hawk of Endymion nuts. It made the Director mad but at the same time knew that such a decorated woman like Natarle wouldn't stop at anything she wants (which proved to be rather risky at times).

The other captains of the Earth forces paled in comparison to Captain Natarle Badgiruel. The Director made sure of that. He decorated her in diamonds and silver for gold never brought out the color of her eyes.

Women are like her and the Archangel Captain can be considered a work of art.

Two works of art were always better then watching a fag demolishing the entire portrait in general. But if Murata were to consider his words as such, he wouldn't mind sinking down that low just so that he could screw her hard.

Natarle wasn't easy to manipulate and damn, the scent of roses and amethyst were turning him on again as she strolled into the black painted walls of the Dominion's hallways, looking like some kind of creature from the hottest ends of Hell.

"Director Azrael." She acknowledged without even giving him the proper respect of stopping to look at him in the eye.

It made him mad. She knew what irks him and she loved seeing him go off like a nut.

"You are late. Badgiruel."

Natarle pulled her cashmere coat off and draped the garment over her left arm. Her dull grey uniform illuminated a sense of authority - something that Azrael's pure white suit didn't quite portray well.

"I thought you granted me a couple of days off?" She taunted. "Or have you missed me already? The children aren't keeping you company enough?"

Azrael was portraying a clear cry that he was lacking the presence of a woman in his life.

"They went out."

"Did you let them out?"

"Yes."

"...I wonder how much more stupid can you get." She chided. "I told you. Don't let them out without me or you accompanying them!"

The Director held his hands up in the air in defense. "They were bored!"

Now, how could one argue with such a lame excuse?

"As long as Orga is there to keep Shani and Clotho in line. I guess it can't be that bad." She concluded and made her way to her sleeping quarters.

It was unfair that she wasn't able to sleep with that woman again. Memories of her superior underneath her in bed flooded her the moment she shut her eyes. Her inner demon was crying.

But try as hard as she could, it was like trying to replace sugar with salt while baking a cake.

How funny could it be?

Azrael pledged that he wanted the world to be rid of _every _coordinator he could get his hands of.

Yet, the woman whom he was addicted to was nothing more but a mere coordinator.

It was obvious.

No damn natural could obtain a sharp, amethyst eye color.

"Send me Ramius." She snapped at her little hand maid.

The low ranking soldier tugged at the bottom of her deep grey uniform. "You don't mean the Archangel captain?"

"_Now_. Do you not understand my orders? Must I get Murata to make it clear to you that I want my woman in here now?"

The poor CIC bolted out, nearly slamming into an amused Director hanging around at a corner.

"People can be so dumb these days." She huffed.

Once again, she waited...before submitting to her own inner demon.

There was just no way out of this hideous circle. She needed to play with her stupid little Archangel. She needed to pinch her bare skin and press at the two milky soft lumps attached to her chest, feel the tips of her soft skin harden underneath her palms.

She had to pin her body down, trying to keep the naked older woman from squirming around too much as she rubbed her tanned skin down, kissing her repeatedly on her neck before forcing her legs apart.

By then, she would be too weak to protest. Too deep in the pleasure.

She wanted the younger woman to stop but the voice would be silent. Bending down, she felt lips upon the most delicate area. That place right in between her legs.

There was a bit of pain and anger upon letting herself succumb to such a devilish beauty. But it would all be gone when she felt her plump breasts being sucked upon again, escalating her erotic pleasure.

They would both continue this raping game over and over again until they were both tired.

It was indeed a work of art not even someone hell bent on coordinator annihilation could protest against.

After all, Murata Azrael too, was considered a man.

And the security cameras had long become his best friend ever since he set foot in the Dominion.

"The rain and snow must've gotten into Badgiruel's head again." He muttered with a glass of expensive red wine in his left hand.

Truly. A night to behold. 6 feet down under where the bombs can't even reach them.

- E N D -


End file.
